


I've Been Building Black Ships

by cloudsarefluffy



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alpha Hannibal Lecter, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Blind Will Graham, But he is lonely, But not an immense amount, Caring Hannibal Lecter, Drunk Will, Family Feels, Fast Pace, Hands, Hannibal is Good, Hannibal is Not a Cannibal, Hannigram Loves Their Food and Wine, Hungover Will, Light Smut, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, May Have Medical Inaccuracies, Mischa Lecter is Alive, Mpreg, OOC Hannibal, Omega Will Graham, POV Hannibal, Permanent Injury, Retired Police Officer Will, Romance, Scars, Self-Esteem Issues, Service Dog Winston, Slightly OOC Will, Smut is not endgame, Time Skips, Unconventional Relationship, Will Graham Doesn't Need Help, Winston is Will's Only Dog, but for only one scene, pinch hit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-11 01:14:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5608168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloudsarefluffy/pseuds/cloudsarefluffy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A pinch hit written for the Hannigram Holiday Exchange 2015 for haruran.</p><p>As requested, romance is abundant between our lovely two boys. Although, their relationship may seem a tad bit unconventional to most but nonetheless "touching". </p><p>  <b>OR</b></p><p>Alpha Hannibal moves to the States with his sister Mischa after being overtly done with the fancy life of a count, and his blind omega neighbor gives him an insight into love that he never quite expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I've Been Building Black Ships

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so some might be wondering why I have TWO entries/gifts for the Hannigram Exchange 2015, and that's because I signed up for pinch hits (AKA covering some gifter after they initially drop out or can't get/haven't got their gift in order so their recipient will still get a gift in the end) and this was the request I received from the mods of the exchange.
> 
> That being said, haruran, you asked for some romance and mpreg, and I plan to deliver!  
> Sorry about your gift being given later than you expected -- I got the form you filled out initially at 2 in the morning on December 27th -- and that your first gifter went POOF for whatever reason. I tried to make up for it by fluffin' some pillows and gettin' Hanni and Willi romancin' the fuck up. (;  
> Oh, but I might not have done it conventionally in any way? (Not sorry, though, omfg my poor heart.)
> 
> Also, the song the title is based off of is "Black Ships" by Gem Club. I suggest listening to it to kind of get a deeper feel for the story. You can watch it here:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CUjByFBRkX8
> 
> Fun Facts: While researching up some things for this fic, I found out that 1) the dog that plays Winston is actually female (though the breed is speculated to be a Shepherd Retriever mix of some sort that remains a mystery), 2) dogs cannot eat garlic (which changed a dish in this fic from being zested with garlic to becoming lemon pepper), and 3) I'm a fucking sap (but I already kinda knew that one).
> 
> As always, links are at the bottom!
> 
> Enjoy!~

 

  
_I’ve been building black ships,  
In the arms of a man I’d forgotten._

**-xXx-**

Mischa was adamant — Hannibal was to greet each neighbor within a mile radius and was to do it as soon as possible so they could get a feel for their more than abstract neighborhood. But the problem was — _is_ — that their new house, one in the more rural outskirts of Wolf Trap, Virginia, was somewhat in the middle of an expanse of woods. Still, though, as she handed Hannibal a fresh tray of snack-sized pieces of lemon pepper Salmon, she expected results.

And thus, unable to deny his precious little sister, Hannibal finds himself walking the long two-laned street outside of their new house in an effort to be homely. For a while, Hannibal thought that there was no one but themselves out there, but a slight clearing in the trees alerted him to a small gravel driveway that wound itself through the dense woodlands.

Hannibal followed it, wondering what he was going to do once he reached its end. Already he felt incredibly rude, and if it weren’t for Mischa’s possible disappointment, he would’ve already turned back and gave up. Still, he perseveres — going right up into the clearing where a small house resides, its siding starting to become loose and askew while vines claim purchase in random footings they made along the crumbling chimney. For a second, Hannibal thinks it’s abandoned, that is, until he sees some sort of mixed breed dog jump from the porch and run at him, barking like it’s mad.

Hannibal almost sees it as a feral stray, except it isn’t as soon as Hannibal notices its harness and how it submits to a call from the porch that it’s obvious it’s someone’s pet. Immediately, Hannibal looks away from the dog to the door of the house, only to find a man not much older than him in the door way. He looks a little irritated and tired, his curly hair swept in every direction by what Hannibal assumes was sleep.

“Winston, heel.”

The dog — Winston — whine softly but complies, coming up to the porch and wagging its tail at the man.

“Sorry to intrude, but—“

“No visitors.”

Hannibal presses his lips together for a moment, and the man only stares at him vacantly.

“Oh, well, I’m not exactly a visitor per say.”

The stranger crinkles his brow, the movement somewhat odd, “What are you then?”

“Your new neighbor,” Hannibal swallows and clears his throat subtly, “My name is Hannibal Lecter, and I moved into the house down the street from yours. My sister was adamant that I introduce ourselves while she unpacked.”

“Oh,” the man loses some of the tone he had, and he straightens himself a little, “Well, uh, welcome to the neighborhood…”

“I brought some food, per her demand.”

At this, the man tilts his head, “Food?”

“It’s snack-sized bites of lemon pepper salmon,” Hannibal begins to take a few steps forward when Winston growls shortly in warning, “If you don’t want any—“

“I’ll try it.”

Hannibal swallows and heads up the steps, wary of Winston the whole way. The dog is surely bipolar with the way it wags its tail at the man but stiffens towards Hannibal, but the stranger seems uncaring for his dog’s behavior.

Hannibal finishes the ascension up the stairs and holds out the tray, waiting for the man to take the lid off.

Some time passes.

“Are— are you having second thoughts—“

The man jolts a little, surprised, “Oh, sorry, I— I didn’t see.”

Hannibal’s brow furrows. That’s— that’s quite _odd._

He’s about to gauge what is wrong with this man when it hits him. His eyes, assumed to be a pale blue by Hannibal, are actually milky around the irises— the pupils unresponsive to any fluctuation as far as Hannibal can tell.

This man is _blind,_ and Hannibal has been standing here expecting him to—

“I’m so sorr—“

The stranger waves a hand, smiling awkwardly, “It’s alright. It— it happens a lot… At least you’re one of the people who figured it out first before things got completely unbearable.”

If Mischa were here, she’d surely throttle him after she got done laughing. An alpha like Hannibal make a faux pas of this caliber? Now _that’s_ something to be in awe of.

“H-Here,” in an effort to save the moment and some of his dignity, Hannibal removes the lid to the tray and clears his throat, “They’re, uh, ready for you…”

The man grins gently before raising a careful hand. Hannibal makes sure to have a good grip on the tray in case the man knocks into it, and he watches as the stranger feels around fruitlessly. Despite his initial worry of tipping the tray over or making a wrong move, Hannibal grabs the man’s hand by the wrist and moves it a quarter inch to the left where a salmon cube resides.

The man is blushing, his pale skin now tinted a delicate rose like the salmon his fingertips find purchase on, “T-Thank you…”

“You’re welcome…”

The man takes a nibble out of it, testing it. A few seconds later, he takes a larger bite and grins, making some of the tension Hannibal feels melt away.

“You know, most people make something like cookies to greet their neighbors,” the man finishes the piece, “but I guess this is a really good second…” he manages to thankfully find a piece without Hannibal’s help, “Is it okay if I give Winston a piece?”

“I suppose it wouldn’t harm anything.”

At that, the man smiles and picks the piece up, whistling a short note to gain the full attention of the dog. Winston looks up, tail wagging a mile a minute.

The man must spoil him, Hannibal figures.

“Here, boy,” the man drops the piece of food, his dog catching it easily before it even hits the ground, before he faces Hannibal again, “Thank you… Uh, what’s your name?”

“Hannibal Lecter… Yours?”

He smiles, the expression anything but warm on his alabaster skin, “Will Graham.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Will Graham.”

“Same,” Will nods slightly, pausing in the doorway for a moment, “Do you want to come in?”

Hannibal hesitates, mulling it over for a moment. He should be continuing with his neighborly search with his salmon snacks in hand, but as Winston tilts his had curiously and Will bites his lip in what seems like a preparation for an awkward apology, Hannibal decides that both Mischa and his exploration can wait— even if it’s for a few moments.

“Sure.”

And when Will grins again, Hannibal can’t find any regret in his decision.

 

  
**-xXx-**

_He’s ringing the bell he’s holding—_  
He’s ringing in the changes.  
Only we are left.

**-xXx-**

Hannibal has been many places during his lifetime. Being a count over in Europe would do that, especially when one of his status we’re an alpha— but there’s a certain character that places like fancy castles and ballrooms lack. Yet, as he carefully paces the length of Will’s quaint living room, he can’t seem to find that absence.

“I haven’t got the knack for interior decorating,” Will jokes lightly, starting to sit down in a nearby chair as Winston watches on carefully, “so I apologize if this seems a bit— . . . _tasteless._ ”

“It’s not an eye sore, I assure you,” Hannibal muses, and he smiles softly before he turns to face the man sitting before him, “In fact, it’s— cozy.”

That makes Will snort, “I may be blind, but I can tell that’s a lie, Mr. Lecter.”

“Call me Hannibal, please. I’m not formal enough like a doctor or psychiatrist for that.”

“So, if you’re not those, then what are you?”

Hannibal smiles, watching as Will easily settles his hand on Winston’s head to pet him, “I cook.”

Will’s brows lift at that, “A chef?”

“No, I’m rather a stay-at-home big brother, at the moment. However, I was fond of having occasional cooking classes back home before I moved here.”

“Where are you from originally?”

“Europe— Lithuania, more specifically.”

Will whistles lowly, and Winston pants along happily at his side, “Long way from home, aren’t ya?”

“I wouldn’t necessarily call that place home anymore,” Hannibal frowns slightly, and Will tilts his head in confusion as Hannibal moves over to take a seat in a chair across from him.

Will waits a moment, giving Hannibal enough time to gather himself after the reminder that came too soon, “If it, uh, makes you feel any better, I’m from Louisiana. I know— doesn’t seem like it. I’m pretty far removed from my Cajun roots…”

“I detected a light accent.”

“I detected one too,” Will jokes, his lips upturned, “except yours is _way_ more noticeable.”

Hannibal snorts, and he looks over to where Winston is eying him curiously, “Is your dog not used to visitors?”

“Oh, I meant to apologize for earlier, he’s usually more well behaved than that,” Will taps the dog on the head once, and instantly Winston looks as though he had just peed on the carpet or something just as damning, “Winston, you know better than to treat guests that way. You were trained better than that.”

Winston barks a small apology before sitting down and putting a paw over his eyes in his version of shame.

“He behaves oddly, is what I meant.”

“Oh… For a service dog, you mean? Yeah, my buddy’s got a bit of a personality, but truth be told, it’s why I picked him.”

Hannibal watches Will takes another piece of salmon from the tray and passes it to Winston, “I’ve never seen a breed like his be service connected, either.”

Will nods, “Usually it’s purebred retrievers and other types of dogs that are used, but Winston here is a mix of some sort. They hoped it’d diversify the dog’s abilities if its parents were of different breeds, but Winston here backfired on them for the fact he came out more rambunctious and troublesome than intended. They were getting ready to get rid of him when I needed a dog, and so I took him. I’m all about the rejects. After all, I am one myself, aren’t I, Winston?”

Hannibal is about to ask what he means by that when he notices. Under the scent of oil, wood, and musty dog, there’s a light floral scent to Will. It’s dampened, meaning the man is on high grade suppressants of some sort— but it’s there nonetheless.

_Omega._

In a way, Hannibal's heart aches for Will. To be an omega with an injury, deformity, or disability — especially one of this degree — is essentially like wearing a large, neon VOID sticker when it comes to being mated. After all, alphas and even betas are expected to get a healthy and strong omega to help provide for their children, and in turn, their mate. With his blindness, Will must’ve been thrown into a chasm of overall dismissal that would make anyone want to hide away in the recesses of Wolf Trap, Virginia.

Even though Hannibal has only known Will for what must be an hour now, he can vehemently disagree that there’s something majorly wrong with the omega. Blind, sure— but Hannibal has met monsters during his lifetime that could see, and he’d take Will over them in a heartbeat.

Quietly, at that stark realization, the alpha murmurs, “I wouldn’t say that.”

Will sighs and rubs at his chin and the dark scruff there, “We don’t have to get into that one… Just— did you cook this fish?”

“I helped my sister Mischa with it,” Hannibal goes with the flow of the change in subject, knowing that Will probably feels like he’s picking at unhealed scabs, “She doesn’t cook as nearly as much as I do, but she’s definitely not a lost duckling in the kitchen, either.”

“So this isn’t your cooking?”

“Not necessarily, no.”

Will hums, grinning, “You know, I think I’d like to try something of yours, if you don’t mind. If this is how your sister cooks and she’s apparently not as well versed as you are in the culinary arts, I’d be amazed to see what you could throw together.”

Hannibal is somewhat glad Will can’t see the blush that paints his cheeks, “I’d be honored to cook you something.”

“I’m open for it. I usually have to order something in or struggle with the microwave. I’m sure my taste buds and wallet will be grateful for your assistance.”

Hannibal chuckles lightly, “On that note, what would you like me to fix you, Will?”

The omega grins, and Hannibal exhales at the brilliance of it, “I don’t know— _surprise me._ ”

 

**-xXx-**

When Hannibal returns, Mischa is sitting in the foyer and is smiling as she reads some magazine.

“So, how long did it take you before you gave up and let someone or the road have all of the salmon?”

“I can guarantee that the salmon wasn’t wasted, if that’s one of your concerns,” Hannibal heads over to the kitchen in somewhat of a rush — even for him — as he tries to figure out what dish will best please his neighbor, “The person I gave it to was fairly grateful for it.”

Mischa gracefully rocks herself onto her feet from the recliner, promenading up to her older brother while he studies the rolodex of recipes they brought back with them, “Care to tell me who this grateful person is?”

“Our neighbor.”

She tsks, “Hannibal.”

“He’s a man that lives down the street from us. I— I talked to him for a while.”

Mischa’s eyes light up at that, “Oh, so you made a friend, did you?”

“I suppose,” Hannibal murmurs, pausing on another fish recipe, “He’s very reserved, and I wouldn’t want to assume…”

“But you _want_ to be his friend?”

“A companionship between us would not be abhorred, no,” the alpha selects the recipe and goes over to the fridge, “I’m guessing you’re already making plans?”

Mischa smiles and begins to skip lightly over to her chair, “I’m thinking a dinner party would suffice. I would ask if the other neighbors would be coming, but I think we both know you only made one connection today.”

Hannibal doesn’t argue.

 

**-xXx-**

Will honestly looks out of place here in the new Lecter household, as well as wary. Winston is by his side faithfully, gauging how Will is doing as Mischa carefully sets the table. She’s obviously interested in the man — especially since Hannibal let her in on Will’s case of blindness and secondary gender. Of course, Hannibal did so to make sure she didn’t broach uncomfortable topics or make missteps like he had, not so she could play matchmaker as she was initially intending.

“So, Will,” Mischa starts, and Hannibal wants to groan as he finishes garnishing the plates, “do you have any hobbies?”

“I build boat motors,” he offers, scratching the back of his neck, “I used to do it with my dad, back when I was a kid in Louisiana. I got good at it enough I could do it blindfolded… That’s probably the only reason I’m able to do it now, you know…”

So Will used to be able to see? Hannibal catalogues that for later consideration.

“That’s still amazing,” Mischa says honestly, and Will smiles at the compliment, “I could never be able to do anything like that.”  
n  
The omega coughs and blushes a little, “Well, uh, thank you…”

Mischa sends Hannibal a glance that speaks wonders.

_I like him. You better not botch this up._

The alpha wants to sigh, but he perseveres and manages to carry the plates over without issue, “Tonight’s meal is Cajun-style sea bass with a side of rice pilaf, all made by yours truly.”

Will sniffs the air, as does Winston, and their reactions are instant. Hannibal is sure that if Will had a tail, it’d be wagging too. Off to the side, Mischa is clapping lightly in approval at Hannibal’s preparations.

Will whistles lightly at Winston, and the dog leads him to the table. With some feeling around, Will grabs the top of the chair and pulls it, settling himself down easily as he scents the meal in front of him.

“If it smells this good already, I’m wondering just how good it’ll taste,” he murmurs, and he gently prods around for his fork, “Now, since I was raised in the spicy bayou, I’ll tell you if you managed to pass or not.”

The Lecters watch and wait, looking on with interest as Will manages to get a piece of the fish on his fork before he tastes it. The reaction is instant— a groan before Will goes after another piece. From across the table, Hannibal flushes, and he knows that Mischa is watching the two aptly as she nibbles on her own fish with a promising smirk.

“This is— this—“ Hannibal swallows hard as Will gets another piece down, “This is _really_ good.”

“D-Did I pass your test?”

Will hums as he scoops some pilaf onto his fork, “ _With flying colors._ ”

The amount of pride Hannibal feels makes his chest puff out a little, and he snakes in a bite or two himself, enjoying the fact he’s pleased his guest so well. In fact, it’s a while before Will talks, too caught up in eating his food to really converse beyond anything more than a few choice groans here and there.

Mischa, meanwhile, is eying Hannibal with a mischievous look. She doesn’t even have to say anything for Hannibal to know that she’s onto something, and that she’ll begin with her strategy soon.

“Honestly, I don’t even remember the food in _Louisiana_ being this good,” Will sits back a little, obviously pleased and sated by Hannibal’s cooking, and stretches.

The sight of his body — lithe and pale in the pristine light as though he were made of gloriously sculpted marble — is enough to make Hannibal salivate, more than he has ever even for his own culinary creations. It’s a new type of hunger— one that can’t be appeased by any mere morsel of sustenance that isn’t the man before him.

For a second, Hannibal is taken aback by this carnal urge — this need to just _take_ and _consume_ the omega before him — before he schools it back. However, the moment is not without its cost, because while Will is unable to see such a reaction, Mischa isn’t, and with growing knowledge of Hannibal’s interest, this only puts the final nail in Hannibal’s coffin.

“Just wait till you have dessert,” Mischa smirks, and she giggles quietly to herself as Hannibal flusters.

 

**-xXx-**

“You know, I had a really good time today,” Will smiles as Hannibal walks him back to his house, an offering he knows Mischa will tease him for once he returns, “I don’t think I’ve eaten that well in ages.”

“It was my pleasure to serve you,” Hannibal admits somewhat quietly.

Winston trots along beside them obliviously, his tongue lolling out despite the cooler air of September fogging his breath. Hannibal almost wishes he could be him in this moment— at ease.

“So, your sister,” Will begins, his mouth quirking, “she’s quite— . . . eccentric.”

“That’s a word for it.”

Beside him, the omega chuckles, “She’s not overtly bad, you know. I actually kinda liked her.”

“She’ll be pleased to hear that.”

Will hums, pausing for a moment, “Hannibal?”

“Yes, Will?”

“I didn’t— I didn’t bother you guys, right? I— I know can sometimes be handful with being unable to see where I’m going, and I was wondering if I made any wrong moves or—“

Hannibal, without thinking, grabs onto Will’s arm, turning him. The omega gasps in some shock and stiffens a little under the alpha’s hand, and as fate would have it, his eyes happen to meet Hannibal’s. Although he can’t see, Will seems to know that they’re having contact right now, as he narrows his eyelids a little in consideration.

“Hannibal?”

“You are not a burden, Will,” his tone is sincere as he watches the minute twitches in Will’s expression at the words, “I will _never_ consider you to be a burden to me. Having you over today was not a trouble nor something I regret. I— I am actually quite fond of your company.”

For a second time, Hannibal sees the beauty that is Will blushing because of him, and he can’t help but smile to himself as the omega somewhat flounders, “Well, I— uh— I appreciate that… I don’t mind you either.”

“Then you wouldn’t mind if I come over tomorrow? There’s another recipe I’d like to see if you’d enjoy, if that’s alright.”

A few seconds pass, and during them, Hannibal wonders if Will is going to reject his idea, but then, a brilliant grin stretches across Will’s lips and the alpha has to take another breath after losing his first.

“That sounds wonderful. How about tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow sounds just as good.”

Oh, Hannibal is definitely going to hear about all of this when he gets home. However, Will makes hearing Mischa tease him worth it every second.

 

**-xXx**

The next day, Hannibal finds himself waiting nervously at Will’s doorstep. Winston is already scratching at the door, whining occasionally as Hannibal hears Will scuttle around his place.

“One moment!” he calls from inside.

Hannibal smirks and readjusts his hands along his newest dish and the bag straps perched on his forearm, and it only grows whenever Will opens the door looking completely disheveled.

“S-Sorry,” Will tries to act cool, but already Hannibal has humorously caught on to his nonchalant act, “been busy.”

“Cleaning, I presume?” Hannibal chuckles, and he adores the way Will pouts slightly, “It smells nice.”

“I didn’t notice it until yesterday, but Winston has filled the place with his rather distasteful musk. It was high time for a change… You can thank Glade for that.”

Hannibal chuckles, striding in once Will steps aside. He doesn’t want to point out that Will essentially cleaned up to not only impress Hannibal, but to make himself seem presentable to the alpha. It’s the same type of approval Hannibal seeks whenever he makes Will a dish to savor, except this time it involves dusting and mopping rather than cooking.

Hurriedly, Will tries to change the subject, “So, what culinary masterpiece have you made for me today?”

The alpha heads over to the table, smiling as he sets his newest dish down, “Lamb chops drizzled with a balsamic reduction, along with an aged wine I’ve paired with the dish to accentuate the taste.”

“Oh,” Will grins and manages to get beside Hannibal with Winston at his heel, “we’re onto wine now? I must be special.”

“Indeed you are.”

Will coughs lightly at that, more so excited than embarrassed, “So, uh, what inspired this dish? I mean, yesterday I knew that you probably wanted to give me a taste of home, so. . . I was wondering if your dishes always have a theme.”

“A theme?”

“Yeah,” Will moves over to where one of the two chairs at the small dinner table reside, “Artists usually have themes for their works, and your food should be considered art, so I figured— . . . nevermind, it’s probably stupid,” the omega blushes and hangs his head a little.

“No,” Hannibal catches Will’s wrist, but unlike yesterday, Will doesn’t lock up or jolt with the movement— rather he gracefully goes in stride with it, almost like a fish would if the current of the river changed, “it’s not stupid, Will. I— I appreciate you asking, actually… I put forth a lot of effort into all my creations, and I’m honored that you would consider and hold them so highly… And to answer your question, yes, there is a theme.”

Will swallows, the movement delicate and entrancing to Hannibal as he watches the omega’s throat flex, “W-What is it?”

The pulse under Hannibal’s finger is racing. What was one a gentle lull is now an anxious hammering against his fingertip, and all the while Will is raising his head and meeting Hannibal dead on. It’s like that moment on the road, as though Will can _see_ Hannibal there and _knows_ what’s going on— what’s about to happen.

“The theme, dear Will,” Hannibal murmurs, pulling Will’s hand up to his mouth, his words placing a heated breath on the skin before he pecks it gently, “is you.”

Will is at a loss for words, and he’s scrambling and searching for something as the pearl flesh along his cheekbones become rosy once more. Hannibal is smiling warmly, especially so when Will seems to remember that they’re supposed to be eating and settles himself down with some resignation.

“So…” he clears his throat and straightens himself out, “About that lamb?”

 

**-xXx-**

A few hours later, Hannibal pours himself his second glass of wine while Will is having his fourth. It’s obvious that Will is drunk or getting there, especially with how he’s beginning to slur and starting to inadvertently break down some personal walls his sober self had built up.

“— and so I told Bev that I didn’t want a tattoo, but she ins-sisted,” Will hiccups lightly and pets Winston before he continues, “So there I was, in a tattoo parlor at three in the morning, getting a tattoo of the omega symbol on my—“

“You’ve had a lot to drink tonight, Will.”

“You’re certainly no help,” Will snorts into his glass, “If you’re looking for someone to point a finger at, look in the mirror, you tap. Besides, I can’t tell how much I’ve drank, ‘specially with you refillin’ my glass so much.”

Hannibal chuckles, enjoying this looser and brash version of Will, “I apologize.”

“Nah, s’fine,” Will winces and sets his glass aside, “I should probably stop now… Being hungover and blind sounds like a risky venture for me.”

“Do you think you’ll be okay tomorrow, then?”

“If I say no would you come to my rescue, o’ alpha my alpha?”

A small part of Hannibal ignites at that — as though those words were like a lit match next to spilled gasoline — and the alpha finds himself swallowing harshly. Will is smirking then, obviously pleased with the outcome of his saying.

“Depends on if you acquire actual assistance, dear Will.”

Will pouts lightly, “So you’d need a legitimate reason to come see me?”

“Do you want me to come see you, legitimate reason or not?”

The omega acquires a coy expression, “Maybe.”

A small shiver goes down Hannibal’s back at that, “Then maybe I’ll chance a visit tomorrow— just to make sure you’re okay.”

Will grins, “Oh, with you, Hannibal, I think I’ll be more than just okay.”

So drunk Will is quite a flirt? In a way, Hannibal isn’t surprised.

“I think I’ll need to make sure not to give you many refills next time around. I’m surprised you haven’t gotten sick yet.”

Will starts to snort, but instead proceeds to vomit all over Winston.

“Maybe I spoke too early,” Hannibal winces, and once Will is done he adds, “Seems like you _both_ acquire my assistance.”

The omega groans softly, “Must’ve reacted bad to my— my suppressants… Happens sometimes…”

“It’s alright, Will… I’ll take you to your room and wash up Winston while you try and settle yourself. I guess that I will be coming over tomorrow…”

Will mumbles something unintelligible, but he doesn’t make any protest as Hannibal easily picks him up. The man is light in Hannibal’s arms as he carries him bridal style, and despite having been puked on, Winston trots along happily as though nothing had happened whatsoever.

“Definitely going to monitor your wine consumption from now on…” Hannibal murmurs, placing Will on the mattress and feeling his forehead just in case something else has gone haywire, “I think you’ll feel better once the alcohol in your system levels out.”

“That or my stomach does,” Will hiccups — the sound wet and nasty — right as Hannibal manages to get a small trash can over to him.

Will throws up once more, and a small part of Hannibal regrets the loss of food and wine at his carelessness. This was his fault— obviously. Will wouldn’t have known how much he had drank, and Hannibal wanted to be courteous and apt on pleasing by topping the omega’s glass off. He should’ve known better — was _taught_ to know better.

An immense wave of guilt crashes over Hannibal, and he apologetically brushes back Will’s sweat-dampened hair as his stomach empties itself further into the bin he’s holding precariously. Meanwhile, Winston, who smells absolutely foul, whines at the sight of his sickly owner.

“I— I think I’m good,” Will manages, spitting into the bin before crashing into the sheets haggardly, “Just— thank you…”

“You’re welcome, Will.”

Will sits up, but halfway through stops. The movement must be too much for him currently, because he falls back to the mattress with a small, pitiful whine.

At the noise, Hannibal’s heart falls further, and he places a gentle hand to lull the omega, “Don’t stress yourself. Everything can wait till morning. Rest.”

Will doesn’t argue — that, or he actually passed out before he could. Hannibal can’t necessarily tell, because he’s too busy eying the mess that is Winston’s coat as he pants beside him nonchalantly.

“Mischa is never going to let me hear the end of this…”

 

**-xXx-**

Will, once recuperated, is officially and overtly embarrassed. He’s blushing constantly (and not even in the good way that Hannibal likes) while apologizing profusely to the alpha. While Mischa had given him a hard time and that was something Hannibal could tolerate, having Will say sorry for his own wrongdoing was just too much for the alpha.

“Will,” Hannibal asserts as he takes the soiled sheets off of the omega’s bed to be washed, “you’re not to blame. I should’ve kept track of how much wine I was giving you. I’m the one at fault here. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“But I puked everywhere and made a fool of myself and you— you—“ Will gets flustered then, his next few words coming out rushed and somewhat heated, “you acted like my actual alpha taking care of me like that!”

At the admission, Hannibal stops abruptly, turning towards the omega that is fuming with vermillion cheeks, “W-What?”

“ _You acted like my alpha yesterday,_ ” the words are far less angry and bitter now, more so solemn and heartbroken — it leaves Hannibal feeling raw as Will continues, “I just— I never had anyone take care of me before, even when I could see… No one wanted me, even then… But you— you just come along with your proper manners and your fucking food and you turn my whole world upside down in the matter of a few days and I don’t even know what you look like—“

“Will—“

“— and it isn’t fair! I don’t need two working eyes to know that this isn’t conventional or logical for you! I’m a broken omega who can’t even see, and you’re this amazing, caring alpha that deserves someone that can at least manage to walk through the kitchen without bumping into something!”

The alpha comes forward then, shocked at all that Will is admitting. There are tears rolling slowly down Will’s cheeks, and when Hannibal meets him, he wipes away the droplets gently.

“Will, you must understand that you aren’t as broken as you say you are. You are still worth something, especially to me.”

“But I shouldn’t be,” Will hisses, and he tries to push Hannibal’s hand away, “I just don’t understand—“

“I don’t need an omega who can see, Will. I need an omega who can _love—_ who can make me feel like the luckiest alpha on earth. There isn’t a need for pedigrees or normalcy, there is only a need for a connection— a bond— for me,” Hannibal murmurs, and he can see Will’s chest hitch, “I moved to here from Europe because I was tired of the posh life, my sister as well. We were considered counts and alphas to the highest degree, and our status made us see the glamour of bloodlines and fortune… But we don’t care for that, Will. We wanted something genuine— not powdered up and bittersweet with lies. We wanted actual friends and not people who wanted us for advantages or bragging rights. We wanted mates that could love us truly for who we are and not what we were… You don’t need to see me to love me truly and that’s enough, Will. That’s more than enough.”

Slowly, Will brings a hand up to Hannibal’s head. With a gentle curiosity, it begins to map out Hannibal’s face. Calloused fingertips graze over Hannibal’s features — his nose, his lips, his cheekbones — all of which are giving Will an impression of the alpha before him. It’s an extremely intimate feeling, and sometimes, Hannibal leans into the warm touch that is Will’s hand.

“I— I can see you now,” he murmurs in awe, “You’re— you’re incredible.”

“I can say the same about you.”

Will smiles gently, “You know, this is definitely not how I thought the day would turn out…”

“Sans the vomit and a few shed tears, I’m quite pleased with this outcome.”

Somewhat embarrassed, Will nudges the ground with his foot, “Well, not all of us can be perfect like you, alpha…”

And Hannibal laughs.

 

  
**-xXx-**

_Maybe it’s our January heads,_  
If only we could cast off all our limbs,  
Then we could learn to start again—  
Apart from everything we once knew.

**-xXx-**

They fall into sort of a routine after that. Hannibal cooks and comes over— Will cleans and opens the door to invite him in. Mischa, of course, is down with the whole thing, and sometimes she includes extra goodies for the two of them when she has the time.

But they’re going steady — or slow — Hannibal can’t figure it out yet. Some days they seem like they’re ready to spring into a dedicated relationship or even more, a bonding, but then there are others. Other days that make Hannibal think that it’s one step forward and five steps back with Will.

Today is one of those.

“Will?”

The omega is sitting in his recliner, eyelids puffy from crying as Winston lays his head down on his owner’s knee in sympathy. Cradled between Will’s fingers is a small metal, one covered in dust and looking tarnished with negligence.

“Will, what is—“

“It’s a medal addressed to me, from when I was a cop in Louisiana,” Will sniffles lightly, his finger running over the juts in the metal and its engravings, “I— I was injured in the line of duty. More aptly, I was _blinded_ in the line of duty…”

Hannibal chances to move closer, but Will doesn’t acknowledge him.

“I was working this domestic case. There was an alpha— one that was accused of raping an omega that had come to him to get their car repaired. I went to his mechanics shop to arrest him by myself, which, honestly was a stupid move… If I had only waited for Beverly I would’ve—“

Hannibal softly grabs a hold of the omega’s hand, “Will…”

“We were by ourselves. His shop was closed for the day to catch up on work, and he was— was working on a client’s car when I came in. At first he was cooperative, more than likely thinking that it was about something other than the omega he assaulted, but when he noticed me readying the cuffs he freaked. He knew he was going down— we had his DNA— he was completely guilty and was going to be charged, but apparently that wasn’t going to happen on his terms… He— he took some of the antifreeze from the car he was working on and threw it into my face to try and get away.”

Hannibal’s throat tightens at that — at the mental image of Will fighting for his life against a scum of an alpha… It’s disheartening, but not as much as the expression on Will’s face now.

“I— It stayed in too long. Once Bev arrived everything was already irreversible. She kept telling me everything was going to be okay and that I’d be fine… After I was admitted to the ER, they told me that my optical nerves were permanently damaged because of the methanol in the antifreeze. If I had been able to wash it out shortly after he’d thrown it at me, I would be telling a different story than I am now but— . . . at least you can see the results.”

“Will, I—“

The omega sniffs, wiping at a falling tear, “I get it, okay? I’m damaged goods. I’m an older omega who, if kids were in my future, I’d never even get to see their faces. I’d never get to see their first steps, or watch as they go into school for the first time… You deserve someone who can at least be able to know what your children look like, Hannibal.”

“That doesn’t mean anything to me.”

“What—“

“I already told you, Will,” the alpha cups Will’s face, “I don’t care for all of those other things. I care about _you_.”

He quiets for a moment, “You better not be lying…”

“Why would I lie to you, dear Will?”

“I don’t know,” he mutters, hiccupping softly, “I just— I’m a little raw emotionally today…”

“How about I make us something to eat… Would that make you feel better?”

Will nods, cautiously adding, “What about those stuffed strawberries you made a week ago?”

“Whatever you want, dear Will,” the alpha smiles, and places a gentle kiss on top of the omega’s forehead.

 

  
**-xXx-**

_You as if you could be,_  
Dancing like a tiger,  
A tiger with such timing—  
And me.

**-xXx-**

Hannibal isn’t expecting Will to do it. They’ve been going steady now for some years, something Mischa is fully supportive of whenever Hannibal and Will move to Baltimore to get more a city vibe in their life. Besides, there’s a psychiatrist there — Alana Bloom — that’s helping Will consult through his issues with his apparently rough past and his loss of sight during his lifetime. It’s probably one reason Hannibal is so caught off guard when he comes home— the space smelling of honeysuckle and molasses as he arrives.

“Will?” Hannibal finishes entering, setting his bag aside from his quick run to the grocery store for some spices.

The inside of the house is quiet. Even Winston, who usually jumps up and tries to lick Hannibal’s face when he comes home, is nowhere to be seen. Already, the scene is off to the alpha, and instinct kicks in.

What if something’s gone wrong? What if someone broke in?

In a hurry, Hannibal rushes into the back, wondering if something’s happened to Will and if—

“H-Hannibal…”

The alpha is speechless when he enters the room, finding the omega sprawled out on the bed with his hands and mostly nude body vicariously covered only with damp sheets and a dress shirt of the alpha’s. He’s panting— lips parted slightly as his fingers dig into the bed when he whines softly.

“Will, are you in—“

“Please don’t h-hate me,” Will cries, turning to where he heard Hannibal speak, “I— I stopped taking my suppressants…”

Hannibal hurries over to Will, petting him as his brow furrows, “Will, why would you do that? You weren’t pressured into this by anyone were you?”

“No, I just thought— . . . I thought we were ready,” he explains, nuzzling his head into the alpha’s thigh, “A-Alana has been talking to me about continuing on with my life… That I should stop worrying about how I can’t see my future and that I should embrace it… She suggested that I move forward with you… I even went as far as putting Winston in a doggy daycare for the next few days…”

Hannibal is honestly taken by surprise. While he and Will have no problems in their relationship — at least that’s what he believes — they never talked about having kids. In fact, they haven’t even discussed getting bonded yet. They’ve only been in Baltimore for a few months now, and nowhere within that did Hannibal expect Will to do this.

“You— You want to bond?”

“I want to go all the way, Hannibal…” Will noses along Hannibal’s slacks, “I’m pushing thirty-eight now and time is running out.”

Hannibal gently stalls Will, lifting the omega’s head up by the chin, “Will, I don’t want you to be pressured into this. I don’t want you thinking that this is a final call on our bond or anything like that.”

“Do you not want it?”

“Of course I want it, Will,” Hannibal scowls softly at the look on the omega’s face, “I just don’t want us rushing into anything because you feel like we _have_ to…”

Will whines, “It’s not like that— it was _never_ like that… Either way, it’s a little too late for that now, Hannibal… Could we— could we please do it? I— I know that our relationship has always been a bit unconventional but I figured that’s—“

Hannibal growls softly, and Will’s face contorts in that of surprise. With a small smile, the alpha begins to lower his head to scent his about-to-be mate. Will’s breath catches in his throat, and he stills as Hannibal drapes over him slowly, maneuvering them to where Will is gently lying on the sheets while he looms above him.

Carefully, Hannibal takes the buttons of Will’s dress shirt and unfastens them one by one, taking in the glorious sight of the expanse of his omega’s skin.

“You look absolutely amazing, Will…” he purrs.

“Don’t tell me what I look like,” he pants out, “Make me _feel._ ”

And how could Hannibal ever deny his precious omega? Especially with that request?

Once the dirty shirt has been removed, Hannibal decides to take his time with Will, grabbing his wrists lightly and moving them up above his head. Much like he had years ago, he can feel Will’s pulse flutter underneath his skin, and he rumbles happily as Will seems to be on edge about every ministration his alpha does.

He moans out lowly, stretching out and arching progressively as Hannibal’s fingertips dance like the points of feathers across Will’s skin, his flesh quickly prickling with goosebumps as Hannibal traces every minute curve along his omega’s body. The feeling of heat — the soft suppleness of Will’s existence — is something akin to godliness under the alpha’s hands. Already, the scent of slick and the feeling of Will’s arousal against his stomach is apparent, and Hannibal swears there is some sort of concerto or sonata dedicated to the beauty and ever still the simplicity of this moment.

Will then exposes his neck to Hannibal, and it’s like the angels are singing.

The alpha looks on, watching as Will seemingly gives into the carnal nature that was his heat, his muscles growing laxer and skin tinging with a rosy warmth that makes Hannibal’s tongue dart out to wet his lips in anticipation. It’s as though, despite never truly expecting nor planning on this moment, Hannibal has been waiting for it forever— and now, he’s being greeted with the finest gift of all.

His teeth sink into Will’s neck, and he makes sure to savor everything.

 

  
**-xXx-**

_A flower in a frenzy,_  
Hour after hour.  
Saw you build the ship—  
Tangle them in branches—  
But I can't feel my hands anymore.

**-xXx-**

Hannibal isn’t surprised this time, not when he comes home a couple of months after their mating to find Will vomiting into the toilet. After all, kids were also part of the endgame when they had mated that day, and if anything Hannibal is happy to know that they succeeded in doing both.

“G-Get the test,” Will grumbles, batting away Winston’s curious sniffing, “I— I want you to read it off to me once I’m done puking my guts out…”

And so Hannibal does.

He tells Will of the plus sign and what that means, and the look on Will’s face is enough.

“ _We’re going to have a baby,_ ” he murmurs happily, his voice and expression the warmest Hannibal has ever seen it, especially when he looks towards his stomach and laughs through a light sob, “H-Hey there, little one!”

Honestly, as if Hannibal needed any more reason to love his darling mate.

 

  
**-xXx-**

_And I've been building black ships—_  
All that I've seen I've forgotten—  
The heart's curtain lifts.

**-xXx-**

Mischa stops by occasionally, always bringing the treats and goodies Will begged her for over the phone once his cravings began. Now, seven months in, Will is a continuous garbage disposal for anything and everything made by the Lecters, and he makes sure that they keep him well supplied whenever he’s hit with an urge for lamb or a craving for an omelet with black olives and whip cream.

While Mischa sometimes voices her disgust aloud (and Hannibal doesn’t blame her once in a while), he’s more than happy to give Will anything he wants.

After all, the omega already did so for him.

 

**-xXx-**

The day their daughter Abigail is born is most likely both the best and worst day of Hannibal’s life combined.

The sight of is darling Will in pain — his screams echoing down the hall as he was forced to stay in the waiting room — will definitely plague him for the rest of his days. However, the knowledge that their precious baby girl was being delivered was enough to make Hannibal comply with doctors and wait it out— to be good so he could see the little miracle Will had brought to him.

Mischa is there too, Winston ever faithfully by her leg. He’s a little calmer than he used to be, and Hannibal is glad for it as he paces the expanse of the waiting room floor for the doctors to call him in to see his mate and newborn child.

“I’m afraid you’ll wear a path into the floor,” Mischa muses, watching her older brother zig zag again and again, “I must say, being a worried father is a suit I’d never expected you fitting into.”

Hannibal blows the comment off, not in the mood for childish rebuttal with his sibling as he loops around again.

“Mr. Lecter-Graham?”

Hannibal pivots in milliseconds, facing the nurse that is smiling at him, “Yes?”

“Will is ready to see you now,” she looks towards Mischa and Winston, “However, I’d like to give them a few moments to themselves before any visitors come in.”

Mischa nods and forces a now whining Winston to heel.

The walk to Will’s room is like an abstract dream Hannibal is somehow floating through, but once he reaches the room, it’s like everything falls into place.

A clear picture is before him, one of Will lying in the hospital bed with a bundle he’s murmuring sweet nothings to wrapped in his arms delicately. With tentative steps, Hannibal comes forward, taking in both his mate and his child at once.

“She has your cheekbones,” Will muses, brushing over his daughter’s face with reverence, “but I’m proud to say she has my nose.”

That makes Hannibal laugh, a relieved sound that makes Will’s grin grow like the love in Hannibal’s heart.

“You’re both so beautiful…”

“But she’s more precious, isn’t she?”

“Better than I ever imagined, though you’re definitely pushing for first place.”

Will smiles and beckons Hannibal over. Once there, the omega holds out her hand, her wrist donned with a bracelet inlayed with brail for Will to feel as she wiggles slowly in his arms.

“I’ve been tracing my fingers over this since they put it on there,” Will murmurs, tears gracing his eyes, “Our little Abigail…”

Hannibal cautiously moves forward, taking the bracelet between the pads of his fingers and feeling the bumps that form the other most important set of letters in the world to him.

It’s then that Abigail reaches out, grasping onto Hannibal’s fingers and cooing curiously.

“She can’t see right now either,” Will murmurs, and he fixes some of the blanket around her, “Guess I’ll have to teach her a few tricks, won’t I?”

Hannibal smiles, and kisses Will’s forehead, “Thank you, Will… For everything.”

“I could say the same thing, you know,” Will laughs, and he tilts his head, “So, what amazing meal will Daddy prepare for you first, hm?”

“There is a while for that, dear Will… However, I was thinking about making her ‘welcome home’ meal to be some lemon pepper salmon.”

Will smiles at the reminder, “I think I can live with that, neighbor.”

 

_The metal shakes itself—  
Where are you now?_

**Author's Note:**

> ###### Prompt me here at:
> 
> http://sunshinexlollipops.tumblr.com/promptask
> 
> (If you want to prompt me here in the comments on AO3, please read the page so you can see what I can write for you.)
> 
> ###### This was written to:
> 
> 1\. My STD Test Results - mytoecold (Drew Monson)  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KMtHxCCTOy4
> 
> 2\. Training Wheels - Melanie Martinez (Male Version)  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ee9LGVdWljQ


End file.
